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much that she could take the last realities of him, the last
facts, the last physical facts, physical and unbearable.
And if she did, would he acknowledge her? Would he be
able to acknowledge her through everything, or would he
use her just as his instrument, use her for his own private
satisfaction, not admitting her? That was what the other
men had done. They had wanted their own show, and they
would not admit her, they turned all she was into nothing-
ness. Just as Hermione now betrayed herself as a woman.
Hermione was like a man, she believed only in men’s things.
She betrayed the woman in herself. And Birkin, would he
acknowledge, or would he deny her?
‘Yes,’ said Hermione, as each woman came out of her
own separate reverie. ‘It would be a mistake—I think it
would be a mistake—‘
‘To marry him?’ asked Ursula.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione slowly—‘I think you need a man—
soldierly, strong-willed—‘ Hermione held out her hand and
clenched it with rhapsodic intensity. ‘You should have a man
like the old heroes—you need to stand behind him as he
goes into battle, you need to SEE his strength, and to HEAR
his shout—. You need a man physically strong, and virile in
his will, NOT a sensitive man—.’ There was a break, as if the
pythoness had uttered the oracle, and now the woman went
on, in a rhapsody-wearied voice: ‘And you see, Rupert isn’t
this, he isn’t. He is frail in health and body, he needs great,
great care. Then he is so changeable and unsure of himself—
it requires the greatest patience and understanding to help
him. And I don’t think you are patient. You would have to
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